Text: Holy Mountain. Entrails. Lord Of All Enemies.

As you lord over this
collapse and catastrophe
its hard to tell if your supporters maintain this presence
with larger numbers or larger mouths
If its a vocal majority
then by a slim margin
Your existence cheapens the species,
but seems to please the sheep in the cheap seats
From deep in the heart of the war machine
its hemorrhaging cost,
in dollars and lives,
is lost on you
To one who's never had a real job,
what worth is money?
To one who's never fought a war,
what worth has human life?
To a motherfucker that's never had to want
for anything in his entire life,
what the fuck do you know about our needs?
Until that day you
sleep with Reagan
sleep with Hitler
and every other murderous enemy motherfucker
Until that day
I can spit on your grave
You'll continue this joyous mission
to kill and starve us
to drive us bankrupt
I'll wait and wonder
where the next Hinckley will turn up